by Bowes, K T
“I’m going to smack you out in a minute!” Logan’s voice cracked with a menace that made Hana’s blood chill.
“Go for it, I’ll arrest you. I can’t wait, Du Rose. One day you’ll slip up big time.”
“All this because you don’t wanna pay back the money I lent you?” Logan sounded incredulous. “I lent it in good faith and you promised.”
“I don’t have it.” Bodie’s voice took on a whinging quality and Hana squirmed. That was guaranteed to wind Logan up more.
“Your mother told me she released a trust fund for you and your sister. I know where Izzie’s went; it’s currently floating that damn church they work for. But you? What did you do with it? One minute you’ve got enough to play the ‘big I am’ and buy expensive gates for Culver’s Cottage and the next, you’re broke. What did you do?”
Hana waited with interest, knowing from experience that Logan’s teeth were gritted.
“I can’t tell you,” Bodie griped, his tone insipid, making Hana feel ashamed of him.
“Gambling? Another woman? A tribe of illegitimate kids? What?” Logan’s voice softened. “You don’t deserve it but do you need my help?”
Hana wanted to rush in and hug her husband until his bones cracked, at the same time telling him not to bother helping the stupid boy. Bodie hesitated and there was silence. Hana put the glass down gently, the condensation on it making it likely she would drop it fairly soon anyway.
“I made a dumb investment and lost the lot. Amy thought I still had it, so I’ve had to follow through and buy Mum’s old house. We had Hope and Amy’s still on extended maternity leave. We’re living hand to mouth and the strain of it is killing me. She wants stuff and I’m terrified she’ll find out. She thinks I’m just a miser and don’t want to spend my money on her. We argue about it all the time.”
“What was the investment?”
“I thought it was a dead cert. I was wrong.”
“Stock market?
“Yeah.”
“I wish you’d come to me. It’s how I made most of my start-up cash.”
“I know that now,” Bodie sighed, a trace of frustration speckling his tone.
“Forget the grand for the auction,” Logan said. “It’s forgotten.” Then he laughed, “It’s probably not good for the leading cop on a murder case to owe the prime suspect money. So let’s forget it ever happened.”
Hana heard her husband’s cowboy boots move towards the door and his hand contact with the handle, his wedding ring clanking against the metal with a faint ‘ting.’
“Logan!” Bodie’s voice sounded frantic and Hana listened to the strain in it with a mother’s ears. “You’re not the prime suspect.”
Logan’s boots grated on the wooden floor, sounding gritty as he turned. Hana thought about Tama’s statement to Odering. He knew nothing and was out drinking in the township with most of the other stockmen, including an underage Ryan between the estimated times of the murder. They had alibied each other, down to a man. Hana waited with bated breath for Bodie’s exciting revelation. She hadn’t expected that!
“It’s Mum, Logan. Mum is the prime suspect.”
Chapter 54
Hana managed to escape from the kitchen before sickness overcame her. She ran down the corridor towards the lobby, almost bowling over a giggling group of guests who stared at her wild green eyes and parted to let her through. Outside on the front steps, Hana shoved her head between her knees and took deep breaths.
The scuffle of feet sounded behind her and a strong arm snaked around her shoulders, as Logan sat down on the step next to her. “You’re avoiding me,” he said, gentleness in his voice making Hana’s tears spring to the surface. “You faked tiredness last night when I wanted to talk and you hid in the bathroom this morning. It used to be me that played the role of serial avoider. We seem to have swapped.”
“Sorry.” Exhausted and sick, Hana couldn’t think of anything else to say. Her brain obscured whatever it was they had been fighting over.
“I haven’t cheated on you, I won’t cheat on you and I need you to start believing that. Otherwise we’re heading nowhere in this marriage.” Logan’s voice maintained its even keel, a steady, comforting rumble. Hana turned and threw herself into his arms, burying her head in the collar of his shirt. When Logan tried to talk to her, pulling her away by her upper arms, she kissed him on the mouth to stop him.
“I love you,” she said between kisses and Logan wrapped her in his arms and held her.
“Good job really,” he replied softly. “Otherwise I might be a bit afraid of you.”
Hana sat back on the step and looked at her husband, searching his eyes for meaning. “You would never be scared of me,” she said with honesty. “You’re really powerful and I’m...weedy and pathetic.”
Logan threw his head back and laughed, his hilarity infectious. His shirt, open at the top, showed the start of his magnificent chest and his grey eyes sparkled like gems. A passing couple stepped carefully around them and the woman looked back a few times at the handsome man in the cowboy hat. Hana gritted her teeth. “What’s funny?”
“You could do more damage with one of your glares than you realise, woman. You’re formidable.”
Hana sulked and Logan leaned in for another kiss, touching Hana’s tongue with his and causing her to feel sensations she would rather not in a public place. “You’re a rubbish eavesdropper,” he said, pulling back from her blazing green eyes, which opened wider in surprise.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Hana blushed in confusion.
Logan eyed her sideways through eyes that were dangerous and perceptive. “No?” He used his hand to shield his eyes from the low glare of the sun that sneaked underneath the brim of his hat. “Good job I don’t think you did it then, isn’t it?” He looked back at his wife, his handsome face filled with the glow of amusement. And superiority; a man enjoying his own joke. “Creeping up on people is a skill. I learned it out of necessity. My life was so confusing that I needed to be one step ahead of the game.”
“That worked well. You didn’t even know who your father was.” Hana cursed her vicious tongue but Logan eyed her with respect.
“Touché.” He brandished the French expression with a casual air, disarming Hana easily by not rising to her foolishly placed bait. He smiled at his wife and twisted his wedding band on his ring finger. Hana gulped. Logan Du Rose only ever played the game to win. She felt herself crumbling inwardly under the force of his personality. Tasting victory, Logan took Hana’s fingers in his, caressing the knuckles and lifting her hand to his lips to kiss, with a seduction he had mastered just for her.
“How did you know I was there?” Hana grudgingly conceded, catching Logan’s smirk even as he tried hard to conceal it.
“I sense when you’re around. I automatically look for you. Coupled with the fact that you creep like a small elephant in clogs.”
“Is that why you let my stupid son off with the money he owed you? Because you knew I was listening?”
Logan looked at Hana with sexy crinkles in the corners of his eyes and grinned. “Hell yeah! If it had just been me and him, I’d have taken it out of his face!”
Hana snorted, “Liar! If you were going to do that, you’d have done it months ago. I didn’t even know he owed you. You’re nothing but a big softie!”
“Shhh!” Logan put his hand over Hana’s mouth and a man pulling a large suitcase up the hotel steps looked at the couple in alarm. “Don’t go spreading that around. I’ve got a reputation to uphold.”
The smile dropped from Hana’s face, landing somewhere near her boots. “Do you think I killed Sylvia?”
Logan studied her as sadness and a flicker of guilt settled in her face. “No, Hana. I don’t think you killed her?”
“Is it because you’re my alibi?”
Logan struggled with his wife’s sincerity as the answer left his full lips, reluctantly crushing her naive illusion of his trust. “No, baby. It�
�s because you couldn’t work out how to get the safety off a pistol like that. And it takes you so long to aim, Sylvia could have run a half marathon and left you stood there fumbling.”
“Oh.” Hana’s bottom lip shot out. “I thought you were impressed with my shooting. Are you not then?”
Logan slipped his arm around her shoulders again and cuddled her into his armpit. She smelled his deodorant and wished she was safely at home in bed with him. “For a townie who shuts her eyes when she fires, I think you’re doing awesome.”
Hana opened her mouth and Logan put an index finger over her lips. “I know what kind of pistol it was because Bodie accidentally-on-purpose let it slip. And no, I don’t own one.”
Hana sighed and shook her head. “Logan, I’m keeping a secret from you...” she began, her heart constricting in fear.
“Yeah, I know,” her husband replied.
Hana sat up and stared at him open mouthed. “You know?”
He nodded and gave her a lazy smile. “Yeah, you’re also a rubbish liar and an even worse secret keeper.”
Hana hedged her bets, not sure which of her many secrets he had guessed. She went for the least damaging. “I went to an identity parade at the police station a while ago. They caught Bobby and...”
“Yeah, me too.”
“What?!” Hana turned on the step and eyeballed her husband. “Oh for goodness sake!” she folded her arms and sulked. Her tantrum was wasted on Logan.
“They got me in after you. I enjoyed the chocolate snails from Alex’s place though. That was a nice touch. I would have just told you, but you seemed intent on turning the whole thing into an intrigue so I thought I’d play along. Flick walked free anyway and I had fun.”
“So you think I’m a rubbish secret keeper?” Hana sighed and thought about the diary contents and her burden of knowledge. You’re not as clever as you think Du Rose.
“Pretty much.” Logan shoved his hat back on his head and smiled at his wife, smugness creeping into his expression. “I’d say you were worse than average.”
“Do you think this baby’s yours?” Hana’s mind dragged her back to Bodie’s cruel accusation. Logan reached his other hand round and stroked the baby bump sticking out of her dress. The material stretched taut under his palm and he smiled at Hana’s attempts to break away from the track-pants and sweater image; for him.
“Of course he’s mine,” he whispered. “I remember Paris. Don’t you?”
Hana smirked and lifted her lips for a kiss. Logan ran his hands up underneath her hair, touching the sensitive skin at the back of her neck. His lips felt soft and his cheek smooth from a hurried shave that morning. He tipped his hat back and rested his forehead against Hana’s.
“That’s perfect!” The unfamiliar voice made Hana jump and she turned to see a woman wielding a camera. Logan’s body stiffened and Hana rested a warning hand on his knee. “I just wanted a few more pictures after our interview.” The woman strode over to them, silhouetted against the sunshine. She was small with long curly dark hair and purple framed glasses rested on a neat nose. “Mrs Du Rose, I presume.” She smiled and stuck her hand out for Hana to shake. “I interviewed your husband recently for our blog, The Bowes Library Corner. We write about all sorts of things including New Zealand attractions and holiday destinations.”
Hana glanced sideways at her husband. Logan’s eyes were gimlet hard, more black than grey and a vein pulsed in his neck. Hana stood up, her polite English reserve in attendance. “Nice to meet you.”
Logan rose to his great height, accentuated by his position on the steps. “You don’t use that photo,” he warned. The journalist shrugged and smiled.
“Whatever.” She turned and walked back to her car, satisfied with the intrusion into Logan Du Rose’s life. He had been curt and closed during the interview and the editor wanted more. Despite snooping around for four hours without the businessman spotting her, the journalist had uncovered little about the recent murder.
“Is that the journo you met a few months ago?” Hana asked in a low voice and Logan nodded, his hat brim moving up and down as he watched the woman start her car and leave with a casual wave. “She did a nice write up after the tourism awards. She definitely painted you as the dark, foreboding millionaire with a soft spot for his wife.” Hana smirked. “Why did she come back?”
“Sylvia’s murder, Hana.” The woman’s name on his tongue wiped all humour from Hana’s face. Her shoulders drooped once again. “She was snooping. And if I find out any of my staff spoke to her, there’ll be another death!”
“Can’t you complain to Odering about journos snooping around during an investigation?”
Logan snorted, sounding like Sacha when she was cross, “He already wants me to shut the hotel! That would give him the excuse he needed.”
“I think I should go and talk to him,” Hana mused and Logan turned to her sharply.
“Stay away from him, Hana!” His thumbs rested in the front pockets of his jeans and he stood with his legs slightly apart. He looked like a king, standing on the steps of his throne room surveying his kingdom. Or a Maori chief. The rangatira in him cried out from the depths of his genealogy, powerful and magnificent.
Hana stretched up on tiptoes to kiss his cheek and gave him a smile. Logan watched her climb the steps and go into the hotel lobby, his eyes narrowed. Hana saw him shake his head, just a fractional movement but enough to make her cringe. She never did as she was told; surely he knew that by now.
An hour later, Detective Chief Inspector Odering stood and eyed Hana through a blank expression that successfully obscured all emotion. It was etched perfectly onto his angular face and Hana suspected it took years of practice to achieve that level of apparent detachment. Hana sat on Nev’s new sofa in his abandoned lounge, seeing the struts from the unfinished barn waving through the window like abusive fingers sticking up into the air. Screw you, they mocked, behind the policeman’s suited back.
“When can Nev move back in?” she asked, making conversation.
“We never said they had to move out,” Odering replied, his face straight.
Hana pushed her knees together as a flick of his eyes suggested he was looking up her dress. Her tights had rolled down over her growing belly and bunched up at the crotch. Not attractive. “How’s your wife and children?”
Odering’s face dropped its blankness for a second, replaced by anguish and then gone again, pushed back behind the mask. “Divorcing me.”
“Oh.” Hana cast around for something helpful to say but found nothing.
“Why are you here, Mrs Du Rose?” He said her last name as though it tasted bad.
“I brought you cookies.” She smiled and held the ice cream container out towards him like a koha - an offering. She leaned forward, crushing her stomach under her ribs and laid it on the floor in front of her. Odering smirked.
“We’re not at the marae, Hana. Am I meant to twirl a broom handle like a majorette and dance across to get them?”
Hana bit her lip at the overt disrespect for her husband’s culture. “There’s no need to be rude.” She stood up, bent with difficulty and retrieved the cookies. Odering observed her with interest as Hana stalked across Nev’s expensive carpet in her boots and pushed the container into the man’s stomach. His lips parted in a smirk and he grabbed it with one hand whilst lurching for her wrist with the other.
“Why did you do it?”
Hana looked down at his fingers, the knuckles white as they gripped her slender wrist. She winced as the pressure disturbed an old wound, a shard of glass hidden in her vein, so microscopic her surgeon-brother couldn’t find it. Odering registered her pain and lessened the force, but he didn’t let go. “I didn’t kill Sylvia!” Hana protested and the man cocked his head like a bird.
“I meant Flick! Robert Dressler. Remember him? He hunted you like a dog for a year, stalked you and threatened you.” Odering held Hana’s wrist up in his hand like a trophy and leaned into her face for emphasis
. “Hurt you!”
“He didn’t do that!” Hana’s denial was too quick and Odering’s brown eyes flared in anger.
“I knew it! He was here the whole time!” He flung her wrist back at her and stepped away, a vein pulsing in his forehead like it was about to blow. “You pick and choose, you people! How can I do my job?” Odering turned his back on Hana and raised his hands to his head, linking his fingers behind so that his elbows protruded like wings and his suit jacket exposed dark, hairy wrists. The ice cream container lay dropped on its side on the ground, emitting a clunk as the last cookie succumbed to gravity.
Hana examined her wrist, the long, raised scar awoken from its slumber and smarting. She touched the tender skin, engrossed in her task as she fought to mentally switch off the pain. Her mind dredged up a buried memory - blood spurting in the sunshine like a rainbow - armed response cops in balaclavas and vests - get down on the ground - get down on the ground now - the ground coming up to meet her - darkness. Hana breathed through pursed lips as she overplayed the mental tape with an oft rehearsed and better one of her own. It’s over. I’m safe. I’m loved.
“I’m so sorry!” Odering’s long arms pinioned Hana to him, a lapel pin sticking into her cheek and his unfamiliar male scent clashing with Logan’s aftershave lingering in her nose. “I shouldn’t have done that, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bring it all back. Hana, I’m sorry.”
Hana’s waxy, paleness alarmed him further as she pulled away and the torture in her face spiked the conscience of a good man struggling with a rotten life. Hana stepped back and Odering’s hands fell limply by his sides. “Don’t tell Logan?”
Hana rolled her eyes at the growing list of things not to tell her husband. Soon she would need to tape her mouth closed in order to be around Logan at all. Hana experienced the sudden urge to seek her husband out and tell him absolutely everything. All the secrets, lies, problems and offences that she currently safeguarded for other people. She could dump it all on him and absolve herself. “Get lost,” she replied to Odering and turned to leave. The cookies lying on their side, probably broken, offended Hana’s sense of propriety and she bent from the knees to retrieve them. It was an elegant, ladylike manoeuvre, little more than a curtsey and she managed it with dignity. She placed the container with precision on the coffee table.